Page 54

“No,” Luca says, sliding deeper into the sofa. She doesn’t tell her that she has made it her personal mission to notice as little about the others as possible. It’s bad enough that she could tell them from memory how many tattoos Florence has (six) and where (two on her left arm, one on her right, left shin, lower back, and right above her hip bone).

Miray goes after Toni because she wants to get it over with. She chooses a spot at the back of her neck, where she can hide it under her hair when she visits her grandparents.

“Does it hurt a lot?” Luca asks her.

Cheek smushed against the leather of the tattoo chair, Miray says, “It’s fine, actually. It just sort of scratches.”

Luca isn’t particularly reassured. There’s blood.

“Are you scared?” Florence asks. The sofa is way too small for the four of them; with the way they’re sitting, her thigh is pressed entirely against Luca’s.

“A little,” Luca admits.

“You really don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Florence reminds her.

Of course, this only makes Luca want it more.

Miray gets up a moment later, practically glowing with pride. Izzy drops a kiss to the top of her head—“So brave, Tiny.”—before swaggering over to the chair to take her place. There’s not much space left on her arms for another tattoo. In the end, she decides on a spot on her ribcage.

“This one might be a bit more painful,” Maja warns as she wipes Izzy’s side down with antiseptic.

“Bring it on,” Izzy says. She doesn’t twitch as the tattoo gun meets her skin, but Luca notices the catch in her breath. Her grin widens as she settles into the sensation, eyes fluttering shut. She says something else to Maja in Polish, sleepy and low in her throat. The next few minutes are filled with soft chatter in a foreign language.

It’s fully dark outside by now. Luca mentally works herself up for her turn while Toni flips through a catalog of flash designs and Miray takes photos of each of their tattoos to share on social media later.

She doesn’t notice her knee is jiggling until Florence’s hand settles on top of it. “Where are you going to get it?” she asks.

It’s the kind of decision-making that Luca hates. She already has trouble choosing which flavor of protein bar to buy. A choice like this one, consequential and permanent, feels overwhelming enough to make her heart speed up.

“I don’t know yet,” Luca says. She looks helplessly at Florence. “What do you think?”

In her mind, it makes sense to ask her. Florence always knows what she wants. If Luca has spent the last year sitting in the passenger seat of her own life, Florence has been white-knuckling the steering wheel and driving ten miles over the speed limit.

Florence considers her for a moment, eyes trailing up and down her arms. Her rings are cool against Luca’s skin as she brushes her knuckles against Luca’s bicep. “Here, maybe? That spot shouldn’t be too painful.”

Luca nods, relieved. A part of her wishes she had someone to tell her what to do all the time. Probably best not to say that out loud.

Once Izzy is finished, it’s Luca’s turn. Sensing her nerves, Florence trails after her to the chair and gives her input when it comes to the stencil. They redo it twice before everyone is happy with the placement. Luca expects Florence to go back to the sofa after that, but she stays within reach, lingering at Luca’s side while Maja prepares the tattoo gun.

“This is your first tattoo?” Maja asks Luca.

“Yeah.”

“Should not be too bad. Tell me when you want a break.”

Heart fluttering in her chest, Luca nods. Then Maja is leaning forward, gloved hands taking careful hold of her arm, and the needle meets her skin.

“Relax,” Florence whispers next to her. She brushes the hair off Luca’s forehead. “It’s worst at the start. Your body gets used to it.”

Luca rests her head against the back of the chair. It’s not as bad as she expected. It really does feel like a scratching sensation, insistent but not wholly unpleasant. The worst part is having to hold herself still.

“Okay?” Maja asks after a few minutes. When Luca glances down, the tail of the scorpion is almost finished. The stark black against the pasty white of her skin makes her stomach swoop.

“Yeah,” she manages.

Florence pets her hair. “You’re doing so well.”

Luca is glad that Maja is taking a short break to wipe off the blood and excess ink; otherwise, the full-body shiver that goes through her would’ve become a permanent mark. “Florence,” she says, helpless.